Gravity and Flight
by Jaded
Summary: This takes place at the end of “Synchronicity.” Tony takes flight, and the only one he wants by his side is Carol.


Title: Gravity & Flight

Rating: PG

Pairing: Tony/Carol

Spoilers: Up to 3x04, "Synchronicity"

Summary: This takes place at the end of "Synchronicity." Tony takes flight, and the only one he wants by his side is Carol.

**Author's Note:** This takes place almost entirely in Tony's head. It's a feverish place in which to exist.

**Disclaimer:** Characters belong to Val McDermid, with gratitude to Robson Green and Hermione Norris for their inspiring portrayals of Tony Hill and Carol Jordan.

Tony touches the bald patch on his head. His short, square fingernails tap against the staples. He'll never look at paperwork the same way again. He runs a finger across the small metal band embedded in his skull. _Gentle_, he tells himself, _gentle, gentle_.

Carol is inside with the doctor, following up on some details about care that he's not overly concerned about. There are other important things on his mind. He pulls on his cap and leans against the car. For a moment, for a blink of a second, he recalls the cold barrel of the gun against his temple.

_Click_. _Bang. _

_End it all, Tony_, he'd thought. What does it matter anyway? You'll be dead soon for one reason or another. He'd wanted to shoot the tumor straight out of his brain. What had it mattered then that he'd go with it? But now? Does he no longer feel that way?

He thinks of something Carol said to him only a few days before, though it feels a lifetime now: "Who we care about. What we care about. Fighting for it. That's what gives our lives meaning. We have to go on. We don't have any other choice."

His who, his what—there's only one answer to both those questions if he's being honest with himself, though that's precisely what he hasn't been—well . . he swallows hard and looks to the door to see if she there. A heavy sigh practically lifts him off the ground. He's hidden his feelings so deep inside that it's impossible that they'd never bubble to the surface one day. A psychologist would have a field day with his level of denial. So there, Tony thinks. What we care about, what I care about—it's not the job, it's not work. It's Carol. Has been for a long time now.

He'd give anything to be with her, as more than a colleague, as her bedraggled weirdo of a friend, but it's taken him a brain tumor and a gun to the head to realize that what he hasn't given up is this ruse, this playing at playing human. It hasn't been a game in a long time now. And because of her.

_I could cope, you know. All those deaths. Part of me can treat it as the job. Losing you? I couldn't cope_.

Tony catches his breath. It feels as though hands are clenched around his insides. He is overwhelmed by a feeling, something fine and fiery, asensation toeing the line between pleasure and pain. He lets it wash over him. It feels at once like fear and love and fear again. He's spent such a long time with such a certainty about who he is, what defines him, what will not, cannot define him, that the truth has been lost. He's standing at the edge of a building, wondering if he will fall or be pushed. Which one is it? Is it both?

He runs his hands down his face and the touch is at once his and Carol's. So many times, her hand sweet against his cheek. He could always feel her tenderness. The ache that radiated from her fingertips. The longing mixed with confusion. She'd vibrate against his skin, send floods of heartache running through his body, but so many times he'd just stood there, wondering at her, always uncertain, _why me_, and why someone so vibrant as Carol Jordan would look at him with desire and love.

The sky is bright but gray and the afternoon cool. The wind against his skin. Carol cares for him, he knows. She's not hidden it. It feels deep and intrinsic to not just who she is but who they are. But the question again: why? There have been other men. Men's he's known about and those he has not. They've ebbed and flowed in and out of her life with little said to him. These men, they exist outside of the gravity that pulls him and Carol together, that keeps them from spinning wildly off into space.

"You're scared," he says aloud. The voice that the tumor took away is back. It seems contemptuous of him. Not all together unexpected, he thinks. "But why? Haven't you imagined what it would be like to wake up next to her, to wrap your arms around her waist, skin still warm from sleep? You're so tangled up inside about what your psychologist's brain tells you is so that you are just messing about now, missing out the opportunity to be with someone who complements you, who understands your demons and loves you still."

His hands have balled up into fists. "Yes I have!" he wants to scream, but he'd only be shouting at himself.

"You can't go back, you know. She's already infected with you. You see it. You see it every time you look into her face, every time you search your eyes, every time you show up at her door, bottle of wine or bag of Indian takeaway in your hand, offering food and friendship whilst wishing for more."

Yes, a psychologist would have a field day with him.

What would a relationship therapist tell Carol, he wonders.

_What you need to do is move on from this man. What you have here is a toxic relationship. A love addiction. You are dependent on one another, yet neither is being entirely fulfilled. What is best for you, what is healthiest, is for you to find a man who can exist in a stable, healthy relationship where you are at once independent and equal, where feelings are easily expressed and desires fully communicated._

And perhaps that therapist would not be entirely wrong. And a psychologist? What would he or she say to Carol?

_What is needed here is closure. There are unrequited feelings that will leave you with emotional baggage if you do not address them now. Emotions are all muddled up in this business you have with this man and it will begin to affect your work. To ignore it, to keep wondering, "what if," will make you question all future relationships. You will be begin to idealize the less than ideal until it breaks you or you become obsessed_.

And what would any friend worth his salt say to her? What would he advise? Well, that she deserved better, Tony did not doubt. That she deserved better than a shattered shell of a man who wandered around muttering to himself and spending his free afternoons at police stations and psychological wards with serial killers. "What about that Spencer bloke?" they'd ask. "He seemed like a good chap. A good catch. Successful, handsome, attentive. Stable, too. I bet he'd jump at a second chance with you." Even if you would still look beyond him, trying to reach the man you can't stop loving despite yourself.

But this wasn't about him. He shook his head. Was it?

Would he, friend Tony be able to tell her all of this? Could he say through clenched teeth, the time is never right for us. You should find yourself a nice man, a man who can look at you with the love that spills out of my heart when I let my guard down and I forget myself and all my psychosis and am simply me and you and you and me? As her friend could he let her go fully, or would he hang on to that lifeline, possessively gather up their link in his arms like a jealous lover, only to wind it up around himself so tight that she'd sink into his very DNA?

He knows the answer to that. Hasn't he always? He is at once clueless and a genius when it comes to Carol . . . and to self denial. They are Siamese twins sharing the same lungs, heart, and brain. He knows the answer. He only has to ask the question, to awaken the man Tony, the man who is whole and speaks the truth he feels. The man who loves Carol Jordan and wishes her to be in name everything she already is to him.

"Looking for faces in the clouds?" And there she is, face gentle with sympathy, coming toward him. She is beautiful, all the more with each day that passes. He feels light again, as though he's leapt from a building, but with wings. He is floating.

"I was just thinking about . . ." His voice catches. You, he thinks. I was thinking about you. What else? Who else? "Hang gliding," he says. In a way, it is the truth.

"Shouldn't you at least wait until you lose the staplework?" she says.

He can't take his eyes off of her. What has taken him so long?

"I'm tired of putting things off. Come with me." He hopes she understands his meaning. She looks hesitant. Does she not understand? Or is it because she does?

"No, I've got work to do." She doesn't break his gaze. She doesn't blink. _Look at me and see_ he wills._ This time is different_.

"You're making excuses." He knows this from experience. He doesn't want to wait anymore. He wants no more excuses. Life is short. The timing will never be right unless he rights it. He is making up now for lost time, for all those years. He wants to reach for her, but only if she will let him.

"Yeah." She's guarded. He's only given her reason to be so since they've known one another. _Let me make that go away_, he thinks, _just trust me. Be with me. Come with me._

"Life's dangerous," he says. He wants to kiss her and hold her, things he should have been doing for years_. Come with me_, he thinks. "Come with me."

THE END


End file.
